Murder at the Portland Variety [Paperback]

In 1894, Portland, Oregon, was still a rambunctious frontier town, and vaudeville provided colorful entertainment. Libby Seale, a seamstress from New York, is working as a costumer at the Portland Variety Theater when Vera Carabella, a magician's assistant, turns up dead backstage. Her death may be connected with the disappearance of several other young women. Libby teams up with newspaper reporter Peter Eberle to investigate and is quickly immersed in a dangerous world of smugglers and white slavers, moving from Chinatown tunnels to the mansion of Portland's most powerful man. She and Peter also find themselves falling in love, but Libby has a few secrets in her closet. This debut novel by a brother-sister team introduces a charming pair of investigators, Libby's strength and courage playing nicely against Peter's endearing maverick streak. Look forward to further adventures in this promising historical series. Barbara Bibel
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

." . . Ubby's strength and courage [play] nicely against Peter's endearing maverick streak. Look forward to further adventures in this promising historical series."

The year is 1894 and Portland, Oregon's white slave trade is alive and flourishing thanks to the Shanghai Tunnels underneath the city. When Vera Carabella, a performer at a vaudeville theater, is found murdered in the tunnels, the police write it off as a botched kidnapping. But Libby Seale, a costume seamstress at the same theater, isn't convinced.

Suspicious that Vera's death is connected to the mysterious disappearances of other young performers, she launches her own investigation. And newspaper reporter Peter Eberle is more than happy to help the pretty, quick-witted Libby in her quest. Drawn into a web of smugglers, prostitutes, and white slavers, their amateur sleuthing reveals an unsavory, corrupt side of Portland . . . and nurtures a spark between them that may blossom into much more.

A native of New York City, M. J. Zellnik was seduced by Portland's beauty and colorful history after an initial stay in 1995. She enjoyed learning more about her adopted home while writing Murder at the Portland Variety, her first novel, and is currently at work on a second Libby Seale adventure. When not traveling, she divides her time between New York and Portland.

From the moment she entered the lobby of Crowther's Portland Variety, Libby Seale could tell something was amiss. The first clue was the quiet. Normally the building was abuzz with voices on the stage, running through a song or dance number, sometimes accompanied by the piano in the pit. Even if no acts were rehearsing, there should have been the inevitable hammering as stagehands assembled the scenery for incoming acts. And it was dark in the lobby, as if no one had turned on the electricity yet, or even lit any of the gas lamps used to conserve energy when the electric lights - still a novelty in 1894 -- were off. The only light came through the dull windows of the box office, making the theatre entranceway look grey, despite its bright red carpeting.

Slipping through a side door that led backstage, Libby hung her coat on the peg in the hallway, and gathered up her purchases. She was later than usual in getting to the theater, and she needed to get the fabric and notions she had bought on her way into work into their proper cubbyholes before she could start to sort out the mending. Her job as assistant in the costume department at Crowther's meant she helped the wardrobe mistress with any and all of the varied costuming needs of a busy vaudeville theatre, even if that entailed running errands in the hours before work officially began. Today this had included several stops on her way into work to buy the material and trimmings for the new set of dancers' costumes, and she had gotten lost twice trying to find her way around an unfamiliar part of town. But she was in no position to complain, since her status at the Variety was only temporary, and she was very much hoping that when the time came they would offer her a job permanently. She had arrived in Portland only six months before, and in that time she had still failed to find a secure means of earning her way in the world.

Where on earth was everybody? The backstage area was never this quiet the afternoon before a show, especially when new performers were arriving, settling into their small dressing rooms with varying degrees of audible discomfort. Crossing the stage, on her way to the costume shop, she saw May hurrying toward the stage from the aisle. May was one of the youngest members of the resident ensemble "The Dancing Whirlwinds," and Libby had taken a liking to the quiet sweet girl who tried to act so worldly. In fact, right now, with her fearful eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she looked more like the thirteen year old Libby suspected she was than the sixteen year old she had claimed to be when Mr. Crowther hired her.

"Miss Seale! Isn't it terrible?"

"What is it, May?"

May looked up at Libby with her big blue eyes. "Didn't you hear about Vera? I mean, Miss Carabella?"

"What is it about Vera, May? Is she still here?" Vera Carabella had been a performer in one of the featured acts, "The Electrical Magic of Signor Carlo," but their run had ended the previous Saturday night.

"She's... she's dead!"

With that, May's eyes started welling up, and she grasped Libby's arm to steady herself. "I have to go. The other girls are waiting for me out front, but I left my bag in the dressing room. Mr. Crowther cancelled the show and sent everybody home."

A thousand thoughts ran like lightning through Libby's mind. She had just seen Vera, it felt like only moments ago! "What happened?" she asked the girl as gently as she could, "An accident?"

May shook her head. "The white slavers got her! Just like they got some other chorus dancer a few months back." Libby heard the words, but they sounded so far-fetched that her mind refused to make sense of them. Her face must have registered this incomprehension, for May went on, eyes bright and feverish, without any prompting from Libby.

"That's how I got my job here. They found one of the Dancing Whirlwinds in the tunnel beneath the theater, dead! And everyone said that it was white slavers that got her, too! They say they take girls through the tunnels and put them onto ships headed for...well, I'm not sure where...All the other dancers were so upset that for a while no one in the city would come in and audition for the Variety, and they lost some of the other dancers who worked here because they quit." Now that the topic had shifted to matters theatrical, May had lost her fearful look, and burbled like a child. "So Mr. Crowther put out the word that there were positions in the chorus open, and I..."

Libby had to break in, "But what about Vera, May? What happened today?" She tried hard not to sound exasperated.

"The police were here when I arrived. They said some workmen in the tunnels this morning found Vera's... body, right in the same spot where they found Polly... that was the other dancer, Polly. And then one of them - the policemen - said to watch my back. Then, when they thought I was gone, I heard him say to the other one that girls like dancers and actresses had to expect this sort of thing." She looked indignant.

Before Libby could frame the multitude of questions that popped into her mind, the girl started off towards the Whirlwinds' dressing room. "I have to go! I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Seale."

Mechanically, Libby made her way to the wardrobe room, released her armful of packages in a heap on the table and sank into a chair.

She couldn't quite believe Vera...(Continues)